"Your stories tonight are so full of hope and life, Chakotay," she said quietly, not exactly smiling at me. We walk the corridors back to our quarters.

"Not always Kathryn."

"The ones you tell me are."

"Do you want me to tell you a different kind?"

We stopped walking, talking in low whispers in the corridor outside our quarters.

"Aren't you ever afraid that we won't make it back to the Alpha
Quadrant?" She says suddenly.

I leaned away from her slightly, studying her expression, wondering if this was the root of the problems of the past few days. I speak slowly. "I'm convinced we will make it back. You gave this crew your word that you would guide them home. I half believed you the night after you destroyed the Array. Now we're made more than half the journey in five years. I have no doubt we'll return to the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn."

She smiles at me, and runs a hand over my cheek. "Now tell me the honest answer."

"Ro Laren, this tribunal finds you guilty on all counts. You are
sentenced to life in prison. You will be incarcerated at the maximum
security facility at Guerin VI."

"Screen off," Janeway said, more sharply than she had intended. The
room was silent. The Federation newsvids that Voyager had picked up in the
two days since her abrupt return to the Alpha Quadrant had done more than
just douse the jubilation of making it through the wormhole with a proverbial
bucket of cold water. Her crew was terribly off-balance. She was...in
denial. There was no other way to put it.

She looked around the table. Torres was the only person whose face
bore no trace of disbelief. When her eyes came to rest on Chakotay, sitting
at her side, unbearably grim, denial ended. "Spell it out, Commander," she
ordered.

"Ro Laren was the last Maquis Captain, in the Alpha Quadrant, to be
alive and free. She and her cell went very deep underground before the
Dominion war began. Everyone thought they'd been killed. Six months ago,
they came back to life. They attacked Cardassian and Dominion installations.
They even destroyed a transport carrying Ketracel White. They've acted as
the Federation's ally. Six weeks ago, the Federation starship Challenger was
attacked by Jem Hadar fighters. Through some combination of malfunctions, as
far as I can tell from what Tuvok has decoded from the reports, the
Challenger lost phasers and photon torpedo capability. Captain Ro heard
their distress call and swooped in like the cavalry, destroying all five
Dominion fighters. But her ship was damaged in the battle and, when the
Excelsior arrived, in response to the distress call, they got a tractor beam
on Ro's ship."

"I suppose Ro told her crew to go quietly. How angry could Starfleet
be at the people who had just saved a Galaxy-class starship? But apparently
the powers that be at Starfleet care more about old charges than about the
lives of their own crews." Chakotay's bitterness was evident. He had wanted
the fears that had been building ever since he got Sveta's message through
the Hirogen relay to be wrong. But they weren't. The Federation didn't care
that the Maquis had been right all along. They didn't understand ‘the enemy
of my enemy'. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to say the
fateful words. He looked at Torres. Five years ago, the words would have
been out of her mouth before he stopped speaking. Before she could voice the
only reasonable conclusion, Janeway spoke.

"If Captain Ro and her crew are being sent to prison, then there is
little doubt in my mind that the former Maquis among this crew would be as
well." Torres started to interject, but Janeway raised a hand to silence
her. "I will not deliver members of my crew, who have served Voyager and
Starfleet honorably, into the hands of people who care nothing for justice.
I promised them that I would be their advocate when we returned, and that I
would not allow them to be incarcerated. I believed that, under the
circumstances, Starfleet would listen to me. I was wrong. If this...
kangaroo court... wouldn't listen to Captain T'Ruda's defense of Captain Ro
and her crew, then nothing I say will have any effect."

"The only way that I can keep my word, and see that justice is done,
is to discharge the former Maquis members of this crew from Starfleet service
now, before we enter Federation space." She looked at Tuvok. If there was
going to be an objection, it would come from him. He was silent.
"Captain, Voyager has to go through the combat zone to get back to
Earth." Chakotay was still Voyager's First Officer; her welfare his first
concern.

"We'll manage without you, Chakotay," she said, not unkindly. "It's
only a couple of days from the Badlands to Starbase 218. The way the war's
going, Commodore Mugat, who's a hell of a lot more practical than the
....Powers ... at HQ, may just assign Voyager some additional crew and send us
straight to the front." She smiled sadly at Torres. "I'm sure Voyager's in
much better shape than most Federation ships right now."

Chakotay had known for two days that Voyager, and Kathryn, were going
to war against the Dominion. Until now, he had held on to the hope that he
would be at her side. A part of him believed that Kathryn Janeway could make
anything happen. But he knew she was right. He and his old Maquis crew
would be no use to anyone in prison. She was giving them a chance -- not
just at freedom but to make a difference in this war. Janeway steeled
herself and turned again to Chakotay.

"Captain Chakotay, your crew has five years of back pay coming.
Since Federation credits won't be of much use to them where they're going, I
don't see why Starfleet shouldn't pay them in kind, if they so choose."

Torres now knew exactly what Janeway about to suggest, and beat her
to the punch. "Our construction teams could build a ship," Torres said, with
something like eagerness. "It would be cramped, but it could carry all the
Maquis. If Voyager is going directly to a starbase afterwards, and if we
cannibalize the shuttles and the Delta Flyer, we'd have enough parts for warp
engines, shields, phasers...even a torpedo system.

"You can take anything you need from my little ship," offered Neelix.
"That is, if you don't think I need to flee from the Federation, Captain," he
added, glancing at Janeway apprehensively.

Janeway almost laughed, then thought better of it. "I don't think
you need to be concerned, Neelix. The Federation has no quarrel with
Talaxia. I'm sure you'll be welcomed as an honored guest." "Almost sure,"
she added under her breath.

"Construction would take at least three weeks, Captain," interjected
Torres. Chakotay started to speak -- his first reaction since Torres had
suggested a new ship -- but Janeway beat him to it.

"I don't think the war is going anywhere in three weeks, Lieutenant.
We'll continue to hold position here. Nicoletti and I will work with you to
determine what Voyager can spare under the circumstances.

"Thanks." Torres nodded a little curtly. Despite her enthusiasm for
building a new ship, she was somehow uncomfortable taking from Voyager.

"Assemble your crew, Captain," Janeway said, looking to Chakotay but
not quite meeting his eyes. ‘Captain' was a title she was happy to give him.
‘Your crew' wrenched at her gut. "They deserve to hear this from me."

"Mess Hall. Twenty minutes," he replied briefly, then left the
briefing room before he gave voice to the regrets they couldn't afford.

* * *

"You can't come with me, Tom. You gave the Captain your parole..."
Torres' attempt to keep her voice low was failing. She didn't notice that
Janeway and Chakotay had entered the busy construction bay. Janeway moved to
stand in front of them.

"Lt. Paris," Janeway interrupted, her tone formal, brooking no
argument, "you are hereby detached from duty on Voyager. You will accompany
Captain Chakotay and assist him in whatever manner he deems necessary until I
relieve you of this assignment."

Paris came to attention. His eyes watered as he looked his captain
in the eye solemnly. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Captain." He was on the verge
of adding something when Chakotay joined them.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Captain," Chakotay began,
touching Janeway lightly on the arm as he had begun to do so frequently in
the past few days. "It's not that I don't want you with us, Tom. But you're
not a fugitive and you do have a family on Earth, and a chance of a Starfleet
career."

"I disagree, Chakotay. He may not get sent back to New Zealand, but
I don't think there's any chance Starfleet will honor his commission. And I
have reason to believe that Owen Paris won't welcome him home, either." The
look that passed between Janeway and Torres spoke volumes. Fortunately,
Paris was too distracted to ask the questions that would have yielded the
contents of Admiral Paris' "lost" message.

"Sorry, Chakotay. You're stuck with me again. I'll look after him
for you, I promise, Captain."

"See that you do, Mr. Paris." Janeway turned and left before the
tears could start forming.

* * *

By 1900, the last evening, the Promise was ready for launch. Janeway
and Chakotay retired to her quarters. The door had barely closed behind them
when she drew his head down to hers and kissed him with all the hunger of the
previous nights. He responded, then pulled back, holding her chin in his
fingertips.

"I can't, Kathryn. Not knowing that it's the last time." His voice
was more strained than if they were already separated.

She sighed roughly. "No. You're right. But..." Her fists clenched
handfuls of the fabric of his uniform.

"Hold me," he asked.

"Yes."

Their arms closed around each other. Some time later, they moved
together to the bedroom. He stripped her, then dressed her again, sliding
her legs into her softest exercise pants and pulling an old flannel shirt of
his -- that she had taken to wearing -- around her shivering torso. His
hands never left her until she began to remove his Starfleet uniform for the
last time.

She unpinned his rank bar and commbadge and set them carefully on the
bedside table. He stood still, neither helping nor hindering. She seamed
open his uniform jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, letting it fall to
the floor. Now she couldn't meet his eyes. She knelt and removed his boots.
He renewed their contact, balancing with one hand on her shoulder as he
lifted each foot in turn. She still couldn't look up at him. She stood and
unfastened his trousers. He stepped back out of them. Then she lifted his
turtleneck off over his head. As her fingertips brushed up his sides, then
his arms, the corner of his mouth and another part of his anatomy turned up
slightly. Even now, he couldn't keep himself from reacting to her. As she
dropped the turtleneck, he stooped and picked up all the pieces of the
uniform he would never wear again. He carried them over to the seldom-used
recycle chute and dropped them in. When he returned to her, she handed him a
pair of sweatpants.

"Tell me a story?" she asked, finally looking at him again. He
nodded and pulled the goosedown comforter off their bed. By common consent,
they moved back to the sitting room and settled on the floor, backs braced
against a heavy chair, where they could look up through the viewport at the
stars. He tucked the comforter around them and leaned back, his head on her
chest, sheltering in her arms.

"Let me tell you an ancient legend..."

"Chakotay..."

"It's a different one, Kathryn. I promise." And so he told her.

Through the night, they told each other pieces of their lives that
they had never gotten around to sharing before. The tricks that Chakotay's
sisters had played on him as a child. Janeway's cave-diving on Mars. The
funnier parts of wilderness training exercises at the Academy. The one shore
leave that each of them had taken on Risa. They talked incessantly, moving
only slightly in their embrace, almost as if the stories could keep morning
at bay.

As the hours crept on, Janeway began to tell stories of Stadi, and
T'Prena, and other crewmembers Chakotay had never known. He responded with
tales of the Maquis who had been left behind.

At 0530, they fell silent. Janeway rose and led him back to the
bedroom. He pulled sturdy civilian garments out of the closet where his
clothes had long since come to reside. She took them from him and dressed
him, then he, too, repeated his movements of the night before in reverse.
When he had pinned the last pip to her collar, she turned hastily and strode
out the door.

* * *

At ship's dawn, every member of the two crews straggled through the
corridors to the shuttlebay. The Maquis looked out of place in civilian
clothes. Friends and loved ones talked quietly, perhaps making plans that
Janeway didn't want to know about. She and Chakotay walked hand-in-hand
openly. After the long night of talking, they were silent.

In the shuttlebay, the crews split, the ‘fleeters hanging back while
the Maquis clustered around their ship. Last handshakes, or hugs, were over
now. Janeway and Chakotay stood between them, unwilling to separate.

Chakotay searched desperately for some way not just to get them
through this moment, but to honor his Captain for keeping her word, for
protecting them, for getting them back to the Alpha Quadrant. A memory
flashed back to him — 20th century France. When the holodecks were repaired
after Voyager's capture by the Hirogen, they had gone back to the St. Claire
program. Tom first, intrigued as usual by the 20th century, then Kathryn,
seeking to understand a little of what it was like to be one of the original
Maquis. He had followed her, as always.

His jaw tightened at the image of Katrine lying next to him in the
hidden cellar of the Coeur de Lion, passing the time in almost-silence as the
Germans searched over their heads. He put the dangerous thought aside. Near
the end of the program, General Patton had visited the units holding that
part of the front. Chakotay remembered how the troops had greeted him.

Chakotay glanced around, looking for Paris and, finding him, motioned
him over. His whispered intentions, too soft for Janeway to hear, were
quickly understood. Paris and Torres circulated among the Maquis as the last
of the provisions were loaded on their ship. The Maquis formed up in two
lines behind Chakotay, stretching across the width of the shuttlebay. The
Starfleet crew, standing in clumps behind Janeway, saw what the Maquis were
doing and formed themselves into ranks as neatly as they had on the Academy
parade ground. When Chakotay sensed that movement had stopped, he stepped
back, drew himself to attention and, in his last act as the First Officer of
Voyager, or perhaps his first as Captain of the Promise, rendered the
long-disused hand salute to Voyager's captain.

For a moment, Janeway was stunned, unable to move. She looked past
Chakotay to her twenty-seven surviving Maquis crewmembers, all standing at
attention and saluting, her eyes resting on each, one at a time. Henley, who
was showing such promise at Ops. Gerron, whose artist's soul had created a
beautiful sculpture for Voyager's Mess Hall. Ayala, whose calm presence on
away teams she had come to rely on. Seven, standing among them, but with her
hands at her side. *Saluting must be irrelevant,* she thought. Tom, who
would have been happy to spend his life in the Delta Quadrant at the helm of
Voyager. B'Elanna, whose astonishingly quick mind sparked with her own to
produce technological miracles. She almost couldn't bear to see B'Elanna go.
Summoning the last of her control, Kathryn Janeway straightened her
shoulders, met Chakotay's eyes, and slowly, deliberately, returned the salute.

Then the Maquis broke ranks and boarded the Promise quickly. As
Chakotay finally turned to follow, Janeway whispered four words to him, just
loud enough for him to hear. He didn't respond. He couldn't. He climbed
into the Promise and Torres sealed the airlock behind him.

Now Janeway turned to her remaining crew, moved once more by their
gesture of respect for her and for their departing comrades. Her voice was
gruff but steady. "All right, people. Clear the shuttlebay.." Ensign
Gutierrez moved aside as Janeway stepped behind the control panel. When the
crew had mostly filed out, she raised the forcefield that secured the control
area from the rest of the bay, depressurized the deck, and opened the bay
doors. The Promise fired its thrusters, and was gone.

* * *

I fall silent. I am sitting on the couch; she sits on the coffee table opposite me.

"We've never talked about this, have we?" she asks me.

"No. We don't have to tonight."

"Maybe we do."

"Kath, it doesn't have to end that way."

"No, but it might."

"The war might be over by the time we get back," I remind her.

"Ah." She stands and replicates us a drink.

"Let me tell you a story," she says suddenly.

"Kath, you don't-"

"-you're the only one who gets to have people hanging off of you're every word?" She teases.